Saturday, November 29, 2008

One of these days I'm just going to change the name of my blog to Reblogging Jessica. Her misery is my material.

Jessica: My return flight features Lily, a toddler so misbehaved (autistic?) that she rolled around on the floor of the boarding ramp, despite being on a leash. She’s two rows behind me and it looks to be a good time! I’m not for over-medicating kids, but at least do it for flights.

Me: I'm all for treating your kid like an animal if they behave like an animal. But why not just go all the way with it and put them in a carrier and check them with your luggage? At least then you'll have your hands free for some mid-flight cocktails. I'm going to be a wonderful mother.

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

“Do not accept packages from strangers that you do not know well.” Does anybody copy edit these announcements before they go out or are they just winging it back there?

Has anyone ever gone to the airport chapel? Do we even have those in New York airports? If so, how long until we turn it into a nightclub?

My carry-on bag is always too heavy to hang on the hook on the bathroom stall door in the airport, so I end up having to put my bag on the floor. This makes me think of this statistic I once read stating that over 60% of purses have fecal matter on them from people placing them on the floor in bathrooms. When I repeated this stat to my friend Lindsey, she replied, “My question is -- who are all these people shitting on the floor?”

I have to say, I’m not a fan of the automatic toilet flush. I always get really stressed out trying to keep both butt cheeks on the seat while I’m wiping. Because if one of them lifts off you get the pre-emptive flush, which not only splatters your butt with used toilet water, but then you end up having to flush twice, so everyone thinks you just did some really nasty business that merited the double-flush. I’d rather return to a simpler time when I flushed the handle with my foot.

Why does “courtesy boarding” permit parents with children under age five to board the plane first? Shouldn’t they have to board the plane last as a courtesy to everyone else? Or preferably, not at all?

Every time my parents pick me up from the airport I have to ask, “What color is this year’s SUV?”

Sunday, November 23, 2008

Jessica: You know you're fat and out of shape when you pull a hamstring cleaning out your closet.

Noelle: I pulled a hamstring the other day while sitting down.

Jessica: I'm in serious pain, had to take a cleaning time-out.

* * * * *

On a related note, you know you're getting old when all of your friends who signed up to run a marathon this year had to drop out after suffering some kind of body ailment during training. See this is why I don't bother doing things anymore. You spend five months getting up at 7 a.m. every weekend to go on some painfully long run only to be sidelined at the last minute by a stress fracture. I also don't trust any form of "exercise" that comes with a high probability of my toenails falling out and me spontaneously crapping my pants. That is my line in the sand.

Sunday, November 16, 2008

Jessica texts me the other night, “Uh, Alvin and the Chipmunks movie? I can’t look away.”

I know how she feels. In desperate times such as these, we have to make sacrifices which, for me, meant cutting all of my premium channels earlier this year. Now the movies I watch are dictated by whatever happens to be on TNT, USA and TBS. (Regarding TBS: Why do their commercials always seem to come back to Tyler Perry? If I hear that man's name again, I'm going to start seizing. I'm serious about this.)

Just a few of the movies I am embarrassed to admit that I've seen in the last month:

Final Destination, 1, 2 and 3The Ring (This is actually a good movie. The problem is that I watched it three times – in one weekend.)Iron-Jawed AngelsConspiracy TheoryThe Wedding Date

Saturday, November 08, 2008

When I was a guest on Red Eye last Thursday, we were supposed to talk about a new study revealing that teenage boys are using alcohol and pressure to get girls to have sex with them. The story ended up getting bumped to the next day and I didn't get to offer my insight on the matter, so I'll do it now:

Ladies, no one should ever be pressured into sex, especially teenagers. There is plenty of time to get liquored up and sleep with someone you will inevitably regret. This time is known as your twenties. But if you ever find yourself on the receiving end of unwanted sexual advances, the quickest way to get a man away from you is to say to him, "Hey, check out this lesion on my vajayjay! Is it just me or is it shaped like Jesus?" This is also a handy conversation starter at Christmas parties and christenings.

I like to think that I'm a decent-looking person when viewed straight on. My three-quarters profile, however, is a different story entirely, a story which should be titled "Damn, Is That Really What My Chin And Jawline Look Like From The Side?" It's like the bottom half of my face said to the upper half of my face, "Excuse me while I slip into something a little more Wynonna Judd." I always forget this until I go on television and they shoot me from that "looking off in the distance while addressing someone outside the frame" angle. (Not that this actually matters or you actually care. I just like criticizing my outward appearance because it keeps me from focusing on my inner moral deficiencies.) This was me during an appearance on Fox News' "Red Eye" last Thursday. I made lots of goofy expressions. Here they are!

Monday, November 03, 2008

I had a hard time coming up with a Halloween costume this year. I’m too old to go the slutty costume route, which ruled out almost everything at Ricky’s. I was too lazy/broke to do anything elaborate. As I was walking down the street debating costume ideas in my head, a mother ran over my foot with her stroller. Instead of apologizing, she shot me an accusing look as if the whole thing was my fault and wheeled away in a huff. Right then and there I decided to go as a Park Slope Stroller Mom, that quintessential Brooklyn child-bearer whose hobbies include believing that her kid is a mini-deity to be worshipped by all, self-righteousness, and refusing to pick her kid up as they toddle stair. by. stair. down the subway steps, not caring that there is a long line of people behind them trying not to miss the train.

For my costume, I went with Converse sneakers for their easy walking capabilities and a t-shirt depicting the Brooklyn Bridge that read: The Subterranean by Jack Kerouac. As a final touch, I picked up something called a "light weight popcorn beret" at Urban Outfitters But the most important thing I wore was an expression of entitlement (see above).

I found a cheap stroller at KMart as well as a Baby Alive with blonde hair and blue eyes to convey a sense of realism. I gave her a bottle of Brooklyn Lager to carry to convey a sense of alcoholism (for when the kid inevitably turns to drink because Mom is smothering her). When I wheeled into a party at my friend's East Village apartment, everyone looked at me in disgust until they glanced down and saw the fake baby.

“Ohmigod, I so thought you were real,” someone gasped. “Love the cap!”

I spent about 10 minutes ramming into people with my stroller and running over their toes while shouting, “Out of my way you single, non-baby-having bitches!” and “I have to get to The Co-op!” Then I quickly lost interest in my new lifestyle and abandoned the stroller in a corner. When my friend Jesse asked where my baby was, I shrugged and said, “I dunno, she’s with the nanny somewhere.” An hour later, I returned to find her upside down in the seat. Someone had taken her beer. I felt my first pangs of mother’s guilt. If this were real life, Baby Alive would’ve been Baby Dead or possibly Baby Molested.

But there was no time to dwell on my failings as a parent. It was time to hit another party on the west side. I tried wheeling the stroller down the sidewalk but partygoers were weaving all over the place and I had trouble getting around them. “Ugh, just pick a linear path and go with it, people!” I thought. And don’t even get me started about the ones standing in clusters! “Don’t you guys have a bar you should be in or something?” I muttered to myself. She and I clattered down the subway stairs to find that the subway entrance was closed so we clattered back up the stairs. Someone kindly helped me carry the stroller.

Back on the street a group of malcontents in their twenties were sitting on the doorstep of a brownstone hating on all the costumes that passed by. “Joe the Plumber!” they shouted at a guy in overalls. “I thought you were funny the first 100 times I saw you tonight!”

When I rolled by, one of the girls cackled, “Ooh, you have a baby! Aren’t you original? Aren't you special?” I considered shooting her the finger, but that would’ve meant letting go of the stroller handle and I was just getting my stride.

A big thank you to Boyfriend Nick for pulling out all the stops for our anniversary last weekend. He's put up with me for three years, which is amazing because I'm a huge pain in the ass most of the time.